Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word
by LadyNobleSong
Summary: Sarah O'Brien is leaving for India as Susan Flintshire's lady's maid, thus abandoning her beloved mistress, Cora Crawley. Or is she? Cora Crawley/Sarah O'Brien. Inspired by the recent news of Siobhan Finneran's departure from Downton Abbey. Rated T to be safe, but I don't think it needs it, really. Very angsty reading ahead, you've been warned!


**A/N**: This is just a small ficlet that I wanted to get out of my system since I heard about Siobhan Finneran's departure from Downton Abbey. I hope you will like it nonetheless!

Oh, and this is dedicated to my heart and soul, the loveliest Sydney [damnthatdowton on tumblr]. Kitten, I love you so much! ~

As usual, reviews are cherished.  
Enjoy your reading!

Wil.

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**Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word**

'O'Brien, would you stay for a second? There is something I must discuss with you, and it's rather urgent, I'm afraid.'

The maid's grip on the door handle tightened slightly upon her mistress' words and she stood absolutely still for a second. Whatever it was her ladyship wished to discuss with her, it would _not _be pleasant; the tone of the countess' voice was harsh and rough, and it seemed that even her distinctively round vowels had cutting edges. Sarah swallowed, feeling her heart's rate accelerate as she turned to face her ladyship.

'Of course, m'lady. What is it?'

Lady Grantham met her maid's questioning gaze with a sharp look, and felt her lips tighten in a thin line as she traced the woman's features for an instant, before eventually breaking the uncomfortable silence which had begun to linger around them.

'I received this note from Lady Flintshire a few days ago,' Cora said, while pointing at a cream-coloured envelope she had displayed on top of her secretary. 'Do you know anything about it, O'Brien?' she asked, barely able to disguise the rising anger and sadness of her tone. The smaller woman shook her head faintly, keeping her lips sealed. A shudder of displeasure ran along her spine, for her mistress' tone spoke volumes. For the first time since that horrendous night when the countess had been arching with fever and pain, Sarah O'Brien was afraid.

Lady Grantham slowly blinked, her lips stretching into a threatening smirk. 'She informs me here of her desire to have you transferred to the Highlands as soon as possible, so that you have enough time to settle in before her departure to India.' The countess waited for a moment before continuing. 'May I ask what this is all about, O'Brien? '

Sarah felt as if her legs were buckling beneath her, as her ladyship's words rang within her ears. She took a step back despite herself, shaking her head fervently as she eyed the letter with fearful eyes. This couldn't possibly be! She had no desire of leaving for India, even less with the marchioness, and this despite her unexplained affection for the nasty, embittered woman. No, she didn't dislike Susan Flintshire at all, but she was_ nothing_ compared to Cora Crawley. How could she ever have considered leaving the latter for the first?

'I- I don't understand m'lady. I never- I would never even begin to-'

The countess rolled her eyes and shoved the letter roughly against her maid's bosom, before turning on her heels and waking to her wooden chair, gripping its back until her knuckles turned slightly white.

'Of course you don't. I'm sure Lady Flintshire simply decided to suddenly tear you away from me and this without the smallest interference from your person. It all sounds so very plausible.'

She scoffed, and O'Brien winced with sheer hurt. In the twenty years she had served Lady Grantham, she had very rarely witnessed the woman use such a haughty, ironic tone, and never before had it been directed towards her. She suddenly felt the unexpected sting of hot tears prickling in the corner of her eyes. How could Cora even believe Sarah would have desired to be torn apart from her beloved mistress? Had her utter devotion to the countess over this last decade not been enough to insure the latter of the depth of her fondness?

'Do you have something you wish to say, O'Brien?' Cora bit back at her, her azure eyes darkened with anger, which yet seemed to be laced with something else also.

'I never asked for such a thing!' The maid all but barked at the countess, who seemed startled by her servant's suddenly passionate tone. 'M'lady, I don't know why or 'ow it 'appened, but I'm beggin' ye- ye 'ave to believe me when I say I 'ad nothin' to do with it!'

Lady Grantham frowned for a moment. O'Brien's cheeks were flushed crimson, and she could see her chest rising and falling at a rapid rhythm despite the thick, dark material of her maid's uniform. She seemed genuinely hurt by Cora's accusations, and her tone sounded as genuine as it could be. Yet what other explanation could there have been to such a letter? Susan Flintshire might have been an icy, disdainful woman, but she held Cora in high esteem. She would never have dared to require her friends' precious lady's maid, had she not been entirely sure the countess had agreed to let her go; something Cora knew she could never do in her life entire.

O'Brien, in her distress, had begun frantically pacing around the room, with little care for how proper her attitude looked. She was mumbling things under her breath, nervously clawing at the fabric of her own dress, as she tried to make sense of things. How could such a thing have happened? Suddenly, she came to an abrupt stop and swore, pressing both her hands against her mouth. How could she not have seen the crystal-clear truth before?

From the corner of her eye, she could see how her mistress' body had suddenly stiffened, and she promptly turned to face the woman she adored so desperately, the ghost of a smile already stretching her sore lips.

'I think I know how this all 'appened, m'lady.'

'Do you?' Lady Grantham asked, raising only one eyebrow and crossing her arms tightly under her breasts. 'Then do explain, O'Brien. I'm very curious to hear your version of the story, really I am.'

Her ladyship's biting tone made the smaller woman's smile vanish from her face in a second, and she began fidgeting with her trembling fingers rapidly, bending her neck slightly and looking down at her feet, unable to meet her mistress' vivid gaze.

'M'lady, you must understand. D'you remember Lady Flintshire's maid- Miss Wilkins?'

Cora's brow furrowed as she nodded, her expression not softening in the slightest. O'Brien swayed on the spot for a second, disconcerted with her mistress' attitude, and swallowed with much difficulty.

'Well, I 'ad a sort of- feud with 'er last time we travelled to the 'ighlands, ye see?'

Cora sighed loudly, rubbing the skin between her eyebrows with obvious disinterest.

'And how does this all concern me, may I enquire?'

'Well, I- I think she must 'ave been under the impression that Lady Flintshire valued me more than 'er, as odd as it sounds. She probably set up this 'ole masquerade just so ye and I would end up 'urt, m'lady. It wouldn't be the first time, and she's pretty cunnin', I must say.'

Lady Grantham's eyes narrowed at her maid's hurried words, yet her face remained utterly impossible to read, even for O'Brien, who yet knew every last thing about her mistress by heart. Shaken by how vulnerable and upset her ladyship still seemed, Sarah decided to try and add a tentative, shy comment.

'She knows 'ow very fond I am of you, after all, m'lady.'

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, O'Brien realised how terrible an idea this had been. Instead of soothing her ladyship, it seemed to have awakened some silent, terrible anger within the taller woman.

'Is that really so?' Cora said, suddenly moving her hands to her own hips, glaring at Sarah more threateningly that she had ever done before, even on that terrible afternoon when she had cornered her in the Servant's Hall. 'Because it sounds to me like a very convenient excuse, Miss O'Brien. And now that you mention it, I seem to recall you spent quite a lot of time tending for Lady Flintshire during our journey, did you not? Was that what you were actually doing? Discussing the terms of your employment while I spent hours pining for you?'

The maid felt her heart throb at the unexpected expression her ladyship had just used. However, she knew better than to marvel at it while she apparently sailed so perilously close to the wind again.

'M'lady, I beg you to believe me- I was not! Lady Flintshire simply required my 'elp for styling 'er 'air, nothing more! I would never dream of abandoning ye- not for anything in the world.'

Lady Grantham had a dry, bitter laugh, as she roamed her eyes over the few, hurriedly handwritten lines on the letter.

'Susan writes me here that you expressed some 'enthusiasm and eagerness' when facing the prospect of travelling to India. Are you telling me she invented this also? '

'I- I don't quite know, m'lady.' Sarah paused for a moment, before continuing. 'I s'ppose I must 'ave mentioned to Miss Wilkins that such a journey sounded rather- entertaining, I guess?'

It seemed like these very words were the last blow for Lady Grantham, who suddenly let out a racking sob, as her eyes shot close. She hurriedly buried her face in her hands, wiping what seemed to be tears of anger in much haste.

'So that is the matter, then,' she whispered coldly, refusing to even look at her maid, who had begun trembling like a leaf, as she struggled herself against her tears. 'Must I understand that Downton Abbey is no longer worthy of your presence, Sarah? Is it not grand enough, not exotic enough to please you thoroughly? Or perhaps you simply grew tired of caring for a simple countess. A marchioness is much more honorific, after all.'

It felt to Sarah as if each and every one of her mistress' words had stabbed her very heart. She could feel burning tears roll along her cheeks, unfettered, and little did she attempt to stop them. She could barely stand or breathe at all, as Cora's accusations seemed to linger within the room, echoing and bouncing back on the walls until she was thoroughly hurt. She attempted to answer, but her voice was suddenly hitched up in her throat, and before she could articulate a single word, the countess continued.

'I thought- I thought the relationship we shared was special, O'Brien. I thought I mattered to you, and that the fondness I had for you was required. It seems I was wrong all along. I will not lie; I am extremely disappointed-'

'But m'lady,' Sarah suddenly cut, 'of course ye matter to me! I care very much for ye, I just-'

'I don't want to hear another word of it, O'Brien. It seems evident to me that you take much displeasure in your current position; and if this is truly how you feel, then I suppose it would be better for us both if you were to leave indeed. It won't take very long for me to find an adequate replacement for you anyway.'

Her ladyship's chamber seemed to suddenly turn silent, and the sentence hung in the air as the two women eventually faced one another, their hurt gazes meeting with unspoken violence. Sarah had never seen her mistress in such a state; she was trembling with sheer anger, her arms along her sides and her fists clenched. She looked at her maid without even blinking, and O'Brien suddenly noticed that her ladyship's eyes were reddened with tears which had apparently begun to dampen her cheeks.

'If- if that's what ye really want, m'lady, then I will be gone by tomorrow,' said Sarah once the silence had eventually become unbearable.

'Of course it is not what _I_ want, O'Brien, don't you understand? But _you _seem to find my company so utterly insufferable lately, that I suppose you would be better off tending for Susan Flintshire.'

'But, m'lady-'

'Silence, Sarah!' Her ladyship eventually shrieked, pressing her still clenched fists against her eyes, as she raised her head towards the ceiling. 'Don't you think you've done enough damage tonight already? Whatever it is you want to say, I don't want to hear it.'

At this very instant, Sarah felt as if her heart entire had just been blown to ashes. She didn't know whether her dizziness was due solely to the tears, or also to the overwhelming grief she felt crushing her very skull and soul. Without another word, she picked up her ladyship's clothing and walked towards the door, all the while wondering if this was or not the last time she would ever see Cora Crawley.

Oh, she wanted to shriek, to shout, she even craved to hurt her ladyship just as cruelly as the latter had just done, but what was the point now? Everything Lady Grantham had represented for her had just utterly crumbled to dust, and nothing would ever be the same now. It was not worth fighting for such a lost cause, and Sarah couldn't have struggled even if she had wanted to; her mistress' words had seemed to drain every last speck of strength she once had. She was nothing more than an empty shell, a lost soul condemned to wander aimlessly until the end of times.

As she clasped the cold, metal handle for the second time, O'Brien was stopped once again by her ladyship, who suddenly let out a hollow laugh.

'So is this the end, then? You are going to leave me just like that, without saying a single word? After these twenty years we have shared? You must surely not have a heart, Sarah.' Lady Grantham stopped for a second only, wiping her eyes with her forearm in an inelegant gesture, before continuing her senseless ramblings, her voice hitching up and accelerating with every sentence. 'Do you really care so little for me? After all we've been through together, after- Why didn't you simply let me die then, back when I suffered from Spanish Flu? Oh, for God's sake O'Brien, what do I have to do to make you love me?'

Her ladyship had all but blurted out her very last words, and she suddenly pressed a hand against her lips, taking three steps back from her maid. By doing so, her legs collided against the seat of her armchair, and she let herself fall upon it, her eyes shutting close. She remained utterly silent, her shoulders shaken by multiple spams and sobs.

O'Brien, who had all but dropped the precious dress carelessly upon the floor, slowly turned back towards her mistress, her eyes widened and her lips agape. She couldn't have heard correctly; Lady Grantham could not possibly have meant-

'M'lady, what did-'

'O'Brien, please- just leave me alone, will you?'

'But-'

'I said _please_, leave me on my own.'

'M'lady-'

'Sarah, now get out!'

But Sarah knew in her heart of hearts, that she had nothing left to lose, whatever she chose to do. So instead of obeying her mistress, she carefully walked to the armchair on which her ladyship was curled up. There, she kneeled by her mistress' feet, grabbed her wrists and gently tore her hands away from her face.

'M'lady, I'm sorry,' she muttered, craning her neck to meet Lady Grantham's fleeting, azure eyes. Never had she looked so distraught and vulnerable before, Sarah considered, as she reached out a tentative hand to her mistress' ivory cheek, tracing it with hesitant fingers and a touch so light Cora scarcely felt it.

'I'm so sorry,' she repeated, 'so terribly sorry.' And upon these words, in a mad and inconsiderate gesture which she found impossible to repress, Sarah pressed her trembling lips upon Cora's agape ones. She drew back after a mere second; and Cora had to struggle against her starkest instincts not to lean in and capture her maid's mouth in turn. Instead, she let out a small whimper from the back of her throat and locked her eyes with Sarah's, silent and immobile.

The younger woman looked both entranced and terrified at once, her pale orbs glistening with ghostly tears, reflecting only sheer vulnerability; an expression Cora knew she matched herself. Sarah O'Brien, after all these years of forced deceit, was finally appearing, stripped bare beneath her mistress' gaze, pure of all pretence and concealment; her bosom was heaving and her cheeks were coloured with crimson blotches- she had never looked so beautiful.

'Why?' The countess eventually asked in a whisper, as she fell to her knees also, resting her forehead against her maid's, their aching, throbbing lips mere inches apart.

'Because I love you, Cora,' O'Brien simply answered, her eyes boring into her mistress', before tentatively brushing her ladyship's lips with her own for the second time. It was all it took for Lady Grantham to melt into Sarah's embrace, desperately clutching handfuls of her dress as she pulled the other woman impossibly closer still, meeting the pressure of her mouth with equal passion and desire. She found herself unable to repress a blissful sigh, when she felt O'Brien's hands softly tangle within her raven locks; she retaliated by wrapping a tender, daring arm around her maid's lower waist. Their tongues eventually met, curious and tentative, and Sarah moaned softly, marvelling at the forbidden touch whose perfection exceeded her most vivid fantasies.

'I love you, Sarah,' Cora suddenly soughed against the smaller woman's lips, sending a wave of molten electricity along her spine, which she felt coursing within her every nerve. There was nothing left unsaid between them now, nothing but the purest clarity, allowing the two women to eventually -slowly yet entirely- encompass the unspeakable, intense beauty that the other seemed to be radiating. They were both crying when they released their embrace and moved apart slightly –if only for an instant- but their tears were now made of gratefulness and love only.

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**A/N**: Thank you so much for having read thus far! You are the best there is.  
Lots of love,

Wil.


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